The Stroke
by eric-idle-rules
Summary: John Cena and Randy Orton's very first meeting ever back in the day. There is a lot of strong language, but it's mostly fluff. This one can be connected to my other John/Randy fics, but can be read alone.
1. Chapter 1

Bright and early, the newest member of OVW found himself at some little Mom & Pop diner next to another one of the guys he had seen there the day before.

Being the outgoing person he was, he introduced himself, "Hey, I'm John."

The other man turned his head slowly towards the voice, finally making eye contact. He saw John was holding out his hand, so he accepted it, "Randy. Randy Orton."

John cocked his head, "Any relation to—"

"My dad."

"Oh, that's cool."

"Yeah."

A waitress with bright, fizzy red hair came up to them where they sat at the counter. She smiled at them, chipper even at this hour. "Hey there, boys, how are you doin' today? Don't think I've seen you here before," she said, directing her comment to John. "This kid's in here all the time." She jerked her head towards Randy, who couldn't help but smile at her. "I imagine I'll be getting to know you, too. What's your name?"

"John."

"Well, John, what can I get for ya this morning?"

Unsure of what he should get, he looked over at Randy and asked, "Hey, what should she get for me this morning?"

"I'd go with the early bird special."

"That's because you get that every morning."

"What can I say, Joan, it's good. And you get a shit load of food for two bucks. So, John, you're here at 5 in the morning, make the most out of it. Get the early bird special."

"Alright, then. I guess that's what I'll get."

"Me, too."

"Two early bird specials comin' right up, then." She gave the two another warm smile before walking off and putting their order in.

"She seems like a nice lady," John commented.

"She's great. The guys are in here all the time; she gets to know each and every one of 'em as they come in then move on… So, John, where are you from?" Randy was genuinely curious, as he actually found he liked the company of the man sitting next to him.

"Mass. About an hour from Boston."

"So, how far was that from Boston?"

John cocked his eyebrow, "I just told you: an hour."

Randy stared, and gave him a look that read, 'are you a total dumbass?' "But how _far_ is it?"

"An hour."

The look went to a whole 'nother level. "Do you people not believe in miles over there? Because usually when I ask a person how far away they are from a place, they'll tell me five miles, or 40 miles, not an hour."

John had to think about that one for a little while, because people really never did measure anything in miles. "Well, I guess it's about… 45, maybe 50 miles?"

"Wouldn't it be easier to just measure everything in miles to begin with?"

"No. Anyway, where you from, Randy?"

"I was born in Tennessee, but grew up in Mo."

"That's cool. I went to Tennessee once… We went to Dollywood. And Graceland."

"That's about all there is, too. Except the Jack Daniels factory. That was there, too."

"Do you get free booze?" John asked, this conversation getting more interesting by the second.

Randy smirked, "Dry county. No one gets any booze."

"Well that sucks."

Joan returned at that moment with two heaping plates of food. "Here you are, boys, two early bird specials."

John's eyes widened at the sight of the mounds of scrambled eggs, home fries, bacon, pancakes and even toast. Who served toast with pancakes? "Thank you," both of them said at the same time.

"You eat up; you have a long day ahead of you." She walked off again, going to another table.

"She had to remind us, didn't she?" John asked around a mouthful of food. "Damn, this is good."

"I told ya. There's a reason that this goes for seven bucks after 6:30."

"Shit."

The two stopped talking as they dug into their food. Neither of them made to speak, though; the silence wasn't an awkward one, but a friendly one. John never thought he would make a buddy so soon, and Randy never thought he'd be the type to make a friend so easily.

After the day's training, all the guys were in the back locker room. Randy turned around and saw John across the room. He walked over to him and slapped him on the back. He saw John try not to wince. "Hey, man, me and Dave are going to the Thirsty Thursday Happy Hour over at Tommy's a little later, you wanna join?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Nice. So, where you off to now?"

"Nowhere really, thought I might go back to my place—"

"Where you livin', anyway?"

"I found some—"

Randy cut him off once again, "Lemme guess. Some shitty little apartment just down the block."

"Got it in one."

"I'm in the same boat. So, instead of doing nothing for the next hour, wanna hang out, then we can head over to Tommy's together."

John smiled, "I like the sound of that."

"Yo, Dave," Randy shouted, "I'll see ya later!"

"Yup," was all he had to say in response.

"Quite a talker, that one," John said as they left the room together.

"You get used to it," Randy shrugged. "But once you get to know him, he gets more talkative. Unlike you, who never seems to shut his mouth, even when you first meet a person…"

"I don't talk that much. I do know when to shut my mouth when I have to. I could stop talking whenever I wanted to. And it's not my fault I talk when someone is encouraging me in conversation. Like this morning, it's not like you were ignoring me when I was talking to you. You kept the conversation going just as well as I did."

"John, really, it's ok to _breathe_ every now and then."

"Sorry."

The two were able to walk to Randy's place, which was on the opposite side of town from John's. Randy punched in his code and they headed for the second floor. "Welcome to my humble home," Randy said when he opened the door and let John in.

"Well, I thought it'd be…"

"Nicer? Bigger? Fancier?" Randy finished for him.

"Yeah, actually. I guess I assumed that your parents…" He let his sentence fade off to nowhere; he imagined that the other man got that a lot.

"Naw, man, my mom isn't really all gung-ho about me wrestling. And my dad thinks this should be one of those real life moments. I wanna do this? Then I gotta do it myself. So, right now, there's no support from the folks, at least not financially. This is all I can afford on my own." He sat down on the junky couch he acquired from the local recycling center and gestured for John to join him.

John sat on the opposite end of the couch, leaving an empty space between them. "I'm surprised you're not rooming with anyone."

"Are _you_?"

"Dude, I just came here, I'm lucky I found someone that would rent to me on a weekly basis, much less find myself a roomie. You and Dave seem like good friends; why not room with him? It would cut your costs a lot, wouldn't it?"

"He's been here for a while, already rooming with a few other people. But I don't really mind being alone, it's not like I've ever been one of those people that needs to be around other people to function."

"Oh…"

Randy looked over to John and smirked again, "And you are?"

"I'm one of five. As far as I'm concerned, there has to be something going on, there's gotta be noise, and I'd like for there to be other people. I guess I just got so used to being surrounded by people all the time as a kid; it's just become a part of my life. I guess I seek people out just for company."

"Which is why yesterday would make sense. You were lucky, though, I actually responded to you."

"Doesn't that make me feel special? Randy Orton actually acknowledged the new guy at OVW."

"Doesn't happen often, so you should feel lucky, John Cena."

The two sat there, chatting back and forth about nothing important, forming a friendship that, little did they know, would become something so much more.

In another hour, Randy was leading John to Tommy's, the bar of choice for the poor wrestling students, due to their dollar drafts during Thirsty Thursday Happy Hour. They met Dave out in the front and the three entered. John and Dave started out the night not talking a whole lot, but with each cup, all three opened up more.

"So, John, how are you liking Kentucky so far?"

"Well, I can't say there's a whole hell of a lot to do here."

"You got that right," Dave lifted his glass in agreement. He downed his fifth beer of the night then announced to John and Randy, "I have to piss like a mother fucker." He stood up and left for the bathroom.

"So he's quiet until he gets to know someone or gets a few rounds in him," John observed. "Seems like a good guy."

"At least you two are talking. Now I don't have to be that awkward middle man." Randy dug in his pockets and pulled out another dollar, asking the bar tender for another one. Once he got it, he turned to John and said, "Man, this is the most shitty ass beer ever, but, damn, I don't think I've tasted anything this good."

John sipped at his third drink and watched Randy start on his ninth. "That's because it's cheap and you're drunk off your ass. You don't know what you're saying. Well, actually, you do, because this really is shit."

"Dude, how come you're not _imbibing_ to your full potential?" Randy asked, slurring his words together.

"Because I didn't want to get wasted?"

"Or maybe you're just a lightweight, and don't want to admit it to your new best friend."

John quirked an eyebrow at Randy, "My new best friend? Dude, you are drunk."

"Yeah, probably. Where's Dave? I have to piss now, I'll be back."

Dave passed by Randy when he returned. He sat back in the seat he was previously in, surprised it was still empty. "Where'd Randy go? He off picking up some chick?"

"Well, he _told _me he was taking a piss, which isn't surprising, since he's already gone through nine of these things, but it wouldn't surprise me in the least bit if he actually _was_ picking up some chick; he's a good lookin' guy, seems like he'd be a ladies man."

"Yeah, he's a bit of one. I bet you are, too, though."

John shrugged, "Oh, well, I mean, not really."

"Not really," Dave laughed, "you're gonna be bringing home a different girl every night, don't lie."

Randy returned and took his seat in between the two of them, "You guys talking about me?"

"Yeah, of course, just like every conversation I have," John said sarcastically. "Which is really saying something, considering I learned your name _this morning_."

"Well, you should," Randy informed him jokingly, poking him in the chest. "All your conversations should revolve around your new best friend."

"Maybe we should cut you off. It's only eight, and you're drunk off your ass. You have no clue what you're saying." John finished off his third drink and placed the empty cup on the counter.

"You're just too uptight." Randy asked for another one of the dollar beers, but the bartender told him that happy hour was over, ended right at eight. "Shit. Well," he said, looking between the two men on his side, "it's either pay full price for that shit or get out of here."

"Might as well head out," John suggested.

"And do what, exactly?" Dave asked.

John shrugged and Randy stood up and walked for the door. He turned around and noticed that the other two were still sitting at the bar. "You two coming?"

When they caught up with him, Dave rolled his eyes and said, "You think as the oldest of this little group, I would have _some_ say in the matter."

"Wait," Randy said to the group just before they went out the door. "I have to piss again."

"You just went, like, five minutes ago."

"The floodgates have opened. I'll be right back."

Randy stumbled off back to the bathroom, and John and Dave assumed identical stances against the wall. "He do that often?"

"Yeah. But the kid's a riot. Don't tell him this, but the only reason I keep him around is cuz he's a funny drunk."

"Your secret's safe with me. He's certainly not afraid to speak his mind."

"Drunk or not." Dave caught the eye of a girl walking past him towards the bar. "Hey, you know how I wasn't quite ready to end the night now?" He looked over to John, then right back at the girl, and John followed his gaze.

"Right, and?"

"You two can handle yourselves, can't you?"

"I would think so. We're big boys now. So, feel free…"

Dave nodded to him and left in pursuit of this nameless woman at the bar. Randy found his way back to the door and saw John standing there. "Where'd—"

John waved his hand and gestured his head towards the bar, and said, "There."

"Ohh. Well, were we still leaving?"

"I hope so. I'm not waiting here until Dave gets laid and comes back here tomorrow to accompany us on our way back. I told him we were big boys and could handle ourselves just fine."

"Are you gonna be ok getting home?" Randy asked, knowing John lived opposite of town from him. The two left the bar and started walking in the direction of Randy's apartment, which was less than a block away.

"I'll be fine. The question here is: are you ok getting home? Boy, you can hardly walk a straight line."

"I'm ok. There's a reason I pick this bar. Location, location and cheap beer."

"You are too much. Maybe talking to you at the diner was a bad move."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because, dude, you crazy." They arrived at the main door to Randy's place. He stood in front of the number pad and started at it, scratching his head. John crossed his arms and shook his head, laughing to himself. "You forgot the number, didn't you?"

"No!" Randy shot back. "I'm just… thinking about what the number may possibly be."

"Yeah, sure."

Randy stood there for another minute before giving up. "I got nothin'." He turned around and gave John his best puppy dog eyes, practically begging John to let him crash at his place for the night.

"Fine, you can stay over tonight. But it'll be a long walk. And it's even emptier than yours. Hope you don't mind the floor."

"Dude, at this rate, I'll happily pass out on anything."

John found himself shrugging again, "Alright then. And don't puke on the carpet, please."

"Ortons don't puke." Randy accentuated this 'fact' by poking John in the chest as they walked.

"You poke a lot, don't you?"

"It's a habit I picked up while annoying the hell out of my sister."

"I hope you weren't poking her in the chest. That would annoy the hell outta her."

"Naw, man. Shit."

"What is it? Wait, you have to piss again, don't you?"

"Yeah."

John looked around, "There's no one here and there's a tree over there. Or do Ortons not piss on trees, either?"

"Fuck off. Just make sure there aren't any cops, or anything, who'll bust me for defacing city property."

Randy came back much relieved, and their walk continued. "Thanks, man." Randy said when they were almost there, breaking the silence that had fallen between them from the tree until that point. "I know we just met and all, so, really, thanks for letting me crash. And I really do think I'm about to go. Waking up at 4 in the morning is _so_ not my thing."

"I don't think it's much of anyone's thing."

"Except my third grade teacher. He told us that he woke up at 4 every morning. Went to bed at 8, or something like that. He was a bit loopy."

"You know you're on that road right now, don't you?"

"What road? I thought we were on 6th Street?"

John was about to explain what he meant by the comment, but decided against it. "Never mind. Let's just get back to my room, ok?"

"I remember my code now!" Randy shouted out of nowhere.

"That's great. But we are not fucking walking back there now. We're literally ten steps from my building."

John and Randy stepped up to the door and John punched in his code no problem. They climbed two sets of stairs, arriving at the third floor. He dug out his key to unlock the door and the two went in.

"And here's my humble home," John said flicking in the lights.

Randy looked around at the white walls, beige carpet and… no furniture. "You were right, your place is worse than mine."

"Thanks. I don't have much in the way of stuff, but I have an extra pillow. And you can use my Patriots blanket to sleep on. Oh, and the bathroom is right there, since I have a feeling you'll be needing it."

"Thanks again, John."

"Hey, what are best friends for?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey," John said to Randy, who still happened to be passed out on his floor. "Yo, dude." The sleeping man made no signs to acknowledge John. "Wake up!" Still nothing. "Get the fuck up!" he shouted, kicking Randy in the side. When the man still made no moves, he kicked him again in the ribs. Twice. Finally, there was some movement.

"Shit, what the fuck are you doing?" Randy groaned, his right arm crossing his body to cover the spot John had just kicked… Several times. He sat up and rubbed at his sleepy eyes. "What time is it? And why the fuck am I on the floor? And… Why are you here?"

"It's six AM, and you're on the floor in imy/i apartment because you were shit faced last night and couldn't remember the code to get into your own building."

"Oh," Randy said, untangling himself from the blanket John had let him use for the night. "So, you're gonna come out with us again tonight, right?"

"What, so I can baby sit you again? New best friend…"

"New best friend? We just met yesterday, and we're already best friends? Do you have any Tylenol, or something? I've got this killer headache. And some asshole just kicked me in the ribs," he added, glaring at John.

"Yeah, there's some in the bathroom. And, just for the record, iyou're/i the one that started the best friend thing."

"I was drunk. You can't listen to me when I'm drunk. So, that Tylenol?"

"I told you: it's in the bathroom." When Randy continued to sit on the floor, John continued, "You're a big boy now, Randy, get it yourself."

"But I'm the one that just got kicked in the ribs and have a bitch of a hangover," he argued.

"And I don't give a shit."

"John, best friends don't kick each other and not provide them with pain killers after," he stated, pouting and giving the best puppy dog eyes he could muster. "Can you get me the Tylenol? Pretty please?"

"Fine!" John said, leaving Randy for the bathroom. He came back with a couple tablets and a small plastic cup filled with water. "Here you go," he said, handing them over.

Randy tossed the tablets into his mouth and gulped down the water. "Thanks, man." He finally stood up, stretching and trying to work out the aches that had developed from a night of sleeping on a solid floor. "Goddamn, that was uncomfortable."

"You say that now. Last night you would have passed out in a sewer pipe if I had let you."

Randy groaned at the thought, "Well, thanks for letting me not do that. As shitty as your floor was, a sewer pipe would have been a lot…"

"Shittier?" John suggested, stifling a laugh.

"That's the understatement of the century," Randy said, trying not to laugh at the inadvertent pun he had almost made, which John took the liberty of finishing for him. "Yeah, you know, I think you might be good for me. You stop me from doing really stupid shit, like passing out in the middle of the road."

"Great, yeah, that's awesome," John said, giving Randy the thumbs up and a big, forced grin. "Now, last night, you were asking me why I wasn't imbibing to my full potential. Say I want to tonight. How am I supposed to do that while I'm being your conscience?"

Randy just shrugged, "You figure that one out. I'm hungry," he added, changing the subject. "What do you have for food around here?"

"Not much," John said, thinking about it for a second. "Umm, I have some of those generic brand Cheerios. Toastee-O's, or something like that. And I have granola bars and oatmeal."

"You know what? Let's go to the Diner. I can put on some clean clothes," he added, looking down at himself and seeing the same clothes he had on the day before. "At least we didn't have to be itoo/i early today. I still feel like shit. You better not have bruised anything," he said, lifting up his shirt to examine the area John kicked multiple times that morning. He pointed at John and glared, "You're lucky. Now, come on, if we leave now, we can still make it before the early bird special is over."

Their day was pretty uneventful. Until after their training was over, that is. "You said you were coming out with us, right?" Randy asked John once again.

"Yeah. Are we going to Tommy's again?"

"Naw, dude, tonight it's Callie's. Get you happy hour nights right."

"I'm sure I'll get to know them soon enough. What time does that one start?"

"Six. Until eight. And tonight, I'm gonna remember my code. I promise. So, new best friend, what did you want to do until then?"

"Uhh… Don't you wanna have some alone time? We've spent, like, the entire last day together."

Randy pouted, "What, are you sick of me already?"

John started to stutter, trying to find a good answer to his question. "Umm, well…"

"Ok, I see how it is. You don't wanna hang around with me. I get it. I extend my hand out to you in friendship, and what do you do? Shoot me down." The entire time, Randy shook his head back and forth, and John didn't know how to react.

"Hey, man, I'm the one that introduced myself."

"And I'm the one that actually returned your introduction."

"Well, I'm the one that took you back to my place when you were too drunk to take care of yourself!"

"Oh, what a saint you are. You're just trying to suck up to everyone here by trying to be the Good Samaritan."

"You couldn't get into your own fucking apartment! What the hell else was I supposed to do?"

A grin broke out on Randy's face, unable to keep it up any longer. "Dude, we're cool. I didn't think you'd actually want to hang around me any longer than you had to. But, you're still coming out, right?"

"You're an asshole."

"Tell me something I don't know. Now, your answer?"

"Yeah, dude, you can count me in. But, uh, did you wanna come over, or something? Then we can go together, since I don't know where Callie's is."

Randy grinned again, this time in surprise. "Wait, you actually want to hang out?"

"Yeah, dude, why not? Unless you don't want to?"

"Sure! Callie's is closer to your end of the town. We only ever go there on Friday's, though. They've got the dollar beers tonight, and it's better than Tommy's, but it's way more expensive than Tommy's usually is. This is the important stuff you gotta know around here."

"Thanks for the lesson."

"Always happy to help. So, where did you wanna go?"

"Doesn't matter… Your place has a TV…"

"Yeah, with four channels on it."

"It's better than nothing. You've got a deck of cards, don't you?"

"Yup."

"Then we're good. Let's go."

"Ok. Hey, Dave," Randy shouted across the room, "get your ass over here!"

He walked over to Randy and John, "Yeah?"

"Did you wanna come back to my place for a while? We're gonna go hang out before we go to Callie's, play cards and shit like that."

Dave shrugged, "Sure, I'm game."

Finally, six o'clock rolled around, and the three headed over to the bar. All of them placed their dollars on the bar and were soon enough served their first glasses. "Oh, dude," John said as he took his first taste, "this is way better. You were so right."

"Of course I was," Randy said, making sure it was known to be a fact. "I always am."

"Don't pay attention to him," Dave told John. "He's a little self-absorbed."

"Hey, I ican/i hear you, ya know."

"Are you trying to deny it?"

"No." Randy chugged down the remaining half of his drink, then paid for a second one.

Instead of sipping, this time John was idrinking./i "It's amazing how much better this stuff is from the crap last night."

"Oh, are you trying to prove to me that you're not a lightweight?" Randy challenged.

"I never said I was. You're the one that tried to pin that on me."

"Because, for all I know, it's true."

A light came on in John's eyes, his competitive spirit coming to the forefront. "Oh, yeah, sure. You're on." He finished the drink, then got a second. He knocked that one back, as did Randy his, and both went for a third.

Dave found another guy from OVW in the bar and left to go sit with him. "I'd hate to get in the way of your little drink off, so I'm just gonna head out…"

The two ignored, or rather, didn't hear him as they downed numbers four and five. John asked, "What exactly are we drinking to?"

"I have no idea. You're the one that started it. But I'll let you know this: Orton's don't pass out on barroom floors."

"Right, just on the street, on the floor of a guy's room that he's known for a day, on a park bench, on—"

"None of which are a barroom floor. So," Randy said, putting down money for his sixth drink, "what do you say we both get shit faced and call it a night?"

John thought about it, then gave a brief nod. "Alright, I think we can do that." He got his own beer and drank it down. "Our livers are gonna hate us tomorrow."

"So what? Don't they regenerate, or some freaky shit like that? Hey, what time is it?"

"You have the watch."

Randy glanced down at his wrist and saw that it was only 6:30. "Where did Dave go?" he asked, finally noticing the other man had left.

"He's not there?" John wondered, turning on his stool to see the seat next to him was no longer occupied by Dave. "Dude's like a ninja."

The thought of Dave as a ninja sent Randy into a fit of giggles, which then led to John bursting out laughing at the same image. They sat at the bar, trying to stop, but every time they made eye contact, they would start again, more violently than the time before. Randy fell forward, his head landing on John's shoulder, and he continued to laugh himself silly. John's arm wrapped around Randy to prevent him from falling over more, and he let his own fall onto Randy's shoulder.

He managed between his laughing fits to say, "Dude, you gotta breathe."

Randy looked over at John, saying, "Ninja," and snorted before laughing some more.

Finally, just as the two started to settle down, Dave came over to the bar to get himself another drink. "What's so funny?"

John, who hadn't noticed Dave come over, turned to look at him, stifling a giggle. "Ninja." It got him another snort from Randy and an odd look from Dave.

"Whatever. You guys are weird."

Randy looked at him and stuck out his tongue. "You just need a better sense of humour," he said, resorting to poking Dave in the chest.

Dave shook his head, a small smile on his lips before walking away, drink in hand.

John and Randy had moved to a table and were on their fourteenth beers when Dave rejoined them once again. Randy was slouched over onto John, who did his best to keep him upright.

"You two amaze me. You've known each other for two days, and you're already acting like some old married couple."

With that, Randy snapped his head up, "Hey, we icouldn't/i be some old married couple. It's not legal."

Dave shook his head and laughed, and John remained silent. "Well, happy hour's almost over. I think I'm gonna head out. Places to be, ya know?"

"Later," both men said at the same time.

As they watched the other man leave, John looked down to Randy, who had resumed his position with his head on his shoulder. "What do you think he meant by that?"

"He must have some appointment, or something," Randy answered matter-of-factly.

"No, dumbass. We're like an old married couple."

"I dunno," he said with a shrug. "He's weird like that sometimes. Dude, I am drunk. Can we go home now?"

"Sure. I'm no better off… Wanna just stay at my place again?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind. Because I don't know how far I can walk like this." He sat up, then made an attempt to stand. He was fine doing that, but when he went to walk, he slammed into the table.

"Here," John said, standing up himself, also pretty wobbly, draping Randy's arm over his shoulder. Maybe two drunk men could walk a straight line.

Somehow they both made it to John's place. After some fumbling with the code and the key once inside, they were in.

"I don't wanna sleep on the floor again. That hurt."

"Well, all I got is the bed. At those chairs."

"Fine, I'll just go back to my place, because I am not sleeping on a floor. I might be drunk, but I'm not falling for that one again."

"And you're not getting the bed, dude."

"You should get a couch. It's great for times like this."

"You could always put the toilet seat lid down and sleep on there."

"I am inot/i sleeping on a toilet."

"Lay out the chairs and lay down on those."

"You have two of them. In case you didn't notice, I'm kinda tall. That? Not a good idea. Trust me, don't try it."

"I can give you another blanket to sleep on."

"Why don't you give the floor a shot?"

"Because it's my fucking apartment, that's why."

"But I'm your guest. And your new best friend. I think you should let me take the bed. Come on, I swear I won't bother you tomorrow night."

"And, what, it's just a one time thing? Like last night was?"

"Uhh… Yeah. I'm gonna be hung-over as it is tomorrow… You'll get less bitching if you let me sleep on the bed. We could always share."

Once that got thrown out there, Randy stopped moving around, and John stared at him as if he had two heads, which, to be honest, it probably did looks that way as John swayed slightly. "Did… You… Share?"

"Umm… Yeah? Why not? Best friends share… beds… right?"

At this point, his later beers were starting to kick in, and John was too drunk to care anymore. "Sure, just… Don't get sick in it."

"Orton's don't get sick."


	3. Chapter 3

John rolled over in his bed and his hand came to rest on a firm stomach next to him. Wait a second, had he brought a girl home with him last night? He hadn't thought so. And, well, those certainly didn't feel like abs belonging to any girl he had ever been with. One eye opened slowly, inspecting the scene. As his vision came into focus, he realized it wasn't a girl in bed next to him. It was Randy. He sat up, a little too quickly as his head started pounding, and shouted, "What the FUCK are you doing?"

Randy, who was still pretty out of it, grunted in reply.

That's when John pushed his shoulder, trying to shake him awake. He couldn't believe Randy was in his bed. Why in the blue hell was Randy in his fucking bed? It couldn't be… He wasn't _that _drunk… Was he? "Randy, wake the fuck up."

"No."

John started to shake him harder, ripping the blanket off the sleeping form. "Get up!"

Randy rolled over, opening his eyes. That's when he realized he was actually in a bed. John's bed. His eyes flew open as he sat up, staring John in the face, "What the fuck is going on?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. Last night, what happened last night?"

"We went to Callie's, I remember that much. We had a lot to drink…" Randy rubbed his hands against his eyes, trying to clear out his still foggy head and recall the events of last night that led to him and John sharing a bed.

"No shit. What else happened? This can't be what it looks like."

"No," Randy agreed, shaking his head, "I mean, it can't possibly… I'm still clothed, right? So are you. There, nothing happened."

"Yeah. And there would have to be some kind of _sexual_ attraction for anything to happen in the first place. Right?"

"Right, and I'm not into you. And you're not into me. Because we're both straight. We must have been really drunk and I came here because it was closer than my place and ended up passing out on your bed. Simple as that."

"Simple as that," John agreed. "Wait, didn't Dave say something about us looking like some old married couple?"

Randy laughed, "Did he really?" He scratched his head, trying to remember that moment, "Ninja. I remember that. Oh, shit, yeah, now I remember. Why did he even say that?"

"He must have been pretty drunk, too. I mean, we've only known each other for two… make that three days. I don't think we'd be marriage material, especially not for each other."

"I know. He has no idea what he's talking about."

"Yeah, dude…"

Their talking faded into silence. Neither one knew what to say in this situation. Each of them was still trying to figure out exactly ihow/i they ended up in the same bed. They sat on the bed, as far apart from each other as it would allow, in the awkward silence that followed their awakening and brief conversation. It was something they had yet to experience with one another, and neither of them liked the awkward feeling growing between them.

Randy stood up and stumbled over to the wall, sliding down it to sit on the floor, as a memory of last night came crashing back, "Shit."

John's head snapped up, "What?"

"I… It was…"

"What?" John asked, more forceful this time.

"I asked you… It was me that asked if I could… If I could sleep in your bed."

"What?" John asked once again, this time with shock and surprise coming through in his tone.

"I… Shit, I should go."

"Yeah, that might be best."

Randy stood back up from the floor, looking around the room at everything but John, who kept his spot on the bed.

"Umm… I'll see you later," Randy said, unable to say anything else.

"Yeah, see ya," was the only thing John could say in reply.

"Bye," Randy added before walking out of the small bedroom and, finally, the apartment. And, when he left, he had no idea if he would ever be back. His walk back to his place was slow, giving him time to think. He would have to think of a way to get John to forgive him. But, then, as he thought about it, he realized that John played a role in it, too. He didn't tell him he was an idiot for even coming up with such a dumbass idea like sharing the bed. What the fuck kind of grown man shared a bed with another grown man unless they were queer. And he, Randy Orton, was not gay. Sure, in the Marines he had given a number of hand jobs, but that was a different set of circumstances completely. It didn't make him gay. Hell no.

As Randy took his walk, John did not move from the bed. What the hell had just happened? He couldn't let himself believe that he iwanted/i to share a bed with Randy. But, then, wasn't that all they did? Share a bed. It wasn't as though they had had sex with each other. No, it was nothing like that. They were drunk. They were drunk and nothing happened. And if nothing happened when they were drunk, then when would anything ever happen? He couldn't figure out exactly why it was such a big deal for him. Randy was just his friend, and best friends share beds, don't they?

The memory came flooding back to him just then. Randy had said that exact thing last night. He remembered he asked Randy if he wanted to crash at his place again, and Randy agreed. That's when Randy said he was _not_ sleeping on a floor. John threw out a couple other ideas, all of which Randy was dead set against doing. He wanted the bed, and believed that as the guest, he should have gotten it. And that's when Randy suggested sharing. What the fuck had he been thinking, why the hell did he say that was ok? Obviously he wasn't thinking of the next morning. Sure, it stayed innocent enough, but what if, one day, they're both _really _drunk and _really_ horny, then what? What would that do to their friendship?

There was no contact between John and Randy the rest of that day; they worked out at different times, or they stayed in their own apartments on opposite sides of the town. Which is why it was surprising to the both of them when they ran into each other at a bar in the center of town called Murphy's. When John walked in, he instantly spotted Randy at the bar surrounded by several women. He saw one of them slide her hand up Randy's leg and slip a piece of paper into his pocket. Their eyes caught across the room, and Randy smirked.

So that's how he was gonna go about things, then? Get as many women as possible? Well, if that's how Randy was gonna handle it, two could play that game. Sitting at the opposite end of the bar, he earned himself a nasty look from Randy. And it wasn't long before a girl sat down next to him.

Now Randy looked back at the girl who had been bold enough to slip her number into his pocket, and he let his own hand slide up her thigh. John had always tried to make an effort to try and get to know a girl before getting into her pants. He never went beyond kissing on a first date. But, hell, who was dating? John shot another glare in Randy's direction as he saw the nameless woman whisper something into his ear.

The woman that had sat next to him leaned closer, letting her hand brush over his. "I'm Robin," she told him.

"John," he answered back, now looking over her shoulder to watch Randy and the chick stand up and leave the bar.

Robin turned her head around, following the direction John's eyes were facing and seeing the same sight. "You know one of them?"

"What? Oh, I've only seen him around…" he lied.

"Oh, I thought she was an ex, or something, the way you were staring at them. Looked like you were jealous."

"How could I be jealous when I have you for company?" That got him a smile. He let his exterior relax, but his insides churned. What the fuck was Randy playing at? Sure, he was partially to blame; he was the one that let their new found friendship explode way too fast. But, shit, did he really look jealous? Of whom? Was he _that _obvious? Could everyone see right through him? But, wait, what was there for him to be jealous of? Jealous of Randy because he was off getting himself some ass? Jealous of that chick because she was getting the time with Randy he wanted?

"Hey, John, where the hell are you tonight?"

"Shit, sorry. It's just… It's been a long day. I'm just tryin' to, ya know, chill. So, yeah, man, I'm sorry if I zone out from time to time. The mind's just racin'."

"Well, why don't you say we get outta here, go back to my place and see if we can take your mind off of things?"

Knowing what Randy was currently doing, wanting to see if this would get his mind off of Randy, he accepted her offer.

When Randy pulled out of her, some woman whose name he couldn't even remember, and rolled onto his back next to her on his bed, he couldn't help but think about what John was doing. He pulled the condom off his limp dick, tied it off and tossed it into the trash bin he kept under the bed. His eyes shut, and when she curled up next to him and he felt her hand spread out over his abs, his mind flashed to that morning. That morning when John's hand fell onto his stomach, and for a brief moment, he felt a spark flash between them.

That was the reason he brought this chick back to his place, to try and get his mind as far away from John as he could. Because there was no way that he was gonna let himself get torn up over some dude he had only known for three fucking days. No, no, no, he would get all thoughts of John out of his head, and if it took beer and women to do that, then he'd do whatever it took.

He let her nuzzle into his neck, place kisses on his face, wrap her small hands around his dick and try and bring it back to hardness. He shook his head, bringing himself back to reality and reached into a nearby drawer to grab another condom.

John went through the motions, but that's all it was. He wasn't thinking about Robin, he was thinking about _Randy._ Not in her place, but just Randy in general. What they needed to do was talk. They needed to have a civil conversation about them. They needed to talk it out, figure out what was going on with their friendship. There was no way they could let it move at the pace it was currently moving. No, everything had gone too quickly. He never should have let Randy keep calling him his best friend, that was the start of everything.

He closed his eyes as he began to come. When he was done, he pulled out of her and got out of the bed to throw out the used condom. "You could have at least pretended to like it," Robin said to him.

Shit, he hadn't meant for… "I'm sorry. Like I said, long day…" he told her, sitting back down on the edge of the bed.

"Lots on your mind?" John nodded, and she added, "Figured as much. Look, if that chick at the bar really was your ex, and you were just pissed at that dude because he was getting in on the action, you just gotta get over her. Like you said, you hardly know the guy. She was probably just desperate."

Suddenly, unexpectedly, John's temper flared. He wanted to shout at her that Randy was a great guy, that he had no fucking clue who that chick was, that he wasn't jealous of him, but of _her_, but he couldn't. He had told her that he had only seen the guy once in a while. He pushed his anger down, taking a calming breath. Maybe he should come clean to her? But why get her involved in something that seemed so petty? "I told you, I don't know her. But," and now he had to tell her. He had to now that he opened his fucking mouth, "I do know him."

"Oh?" she asked, intrigued. "You said you had only seen him around."

"I know. But I only met him a couple days ago."

"Then what the fuck are you getting so worked up over?"

John's head fell back against the wall, not knowing how to explain it to her. "Look, Randy and I met at OVW, or, actually, we met iproperly/i at a diner before going to a training session at OVW. Later that night we went out to a bar and he got totally wasted. He started calling me his best friend after knowing me for only a day. I didn't stop him, since I thought it was pretty amusing. Actually, he got so drunk that night he couldn't remember the code to get into his building, so he ended up crashing on my floor. Anyway, the next day we went out. We iboth/i got wasted, and I let him come back to my place again."

"Holy shit," she cut in, "did you have sex with him?" From the way she said it, it actually sounded like she _wanted _them to have had sex.

"Wait, what? No!"

"Oh… Then what the hell is your problem?"

"I can't even believe I'm telling you all this. Why don't we forget I ever said anything? We can get back to what we were doing before, and this time, I'll more than just pretend to like it, ok?" John asked, rolling over and resting a hand on her hip

"Fuck no. Not until you tell me why you were so spaced out the first time around."

"I'm sure you don't want to hear it."

"You'd be surprised. Now spill."

"Fine. We were drunk; he refused to sleep on the floor again and suggested we share the bed."

"Sounds hot."

"When we woke up this morning, neither of us remembered the night before, we had no idea why he was in my bed."

"Did you _think_ you two had sex? If you two really were just friends, then why the fuck would it matter if you shared a bed? You were drunk, if you knew that there was no interest between either of you for each other, then who really cares?"

"When I was starting to wake up," John said, taking a deep breath before admitting his thoughts to her, "I rolled over and my hand fell onto his stomach."

"And what? Did the world end because you touched another man? You go to that wrestling school, aren't you used to guys feeling you up all the time?"

"This was different. Look, shit, I'm sorry, I talked too much. I should really get back to my place."

"Why bother? You're already here, we've already seen each other naked, what's spending the night gonna do? You'll figure out whatever it is that's eating at you about this guy. One drunk night won't make one bit of difference. Nothing happened, no one got hurt, you'll get over it. Now, what do you say we put that little conversation behind us, pretend it never happened, and I'll try and get your mind off things again? And really, feel free to spend the rest of the night; I won't be kicking you out."


	4. Chapter 4

When Randy woke up, he felt a soft body in his bed next to him. His head throbbed though he had very little to drink the night before. He sat up, which caused the woman next to him to stir. "Morning," she said sleepily.

"Morning," he grunted back, planting his feet on the floor. He grabbed his clothes, which had been scattered over the floor, before saying, "I'm taking a shower. You know the way out."

She pulled a sheet up around her, obviously upset, "Don't you want me to join you?"

"No," he told her before closing and locking the door to the small bathroom behind him. He could practically ihear/i her pout as she shuffled around, gathering her belongings. He heard the door slam shut as the water poured over him. "Shit," he said to himself, pounding his head against the wall. "What the fuck did that solve?" he asked aloud. "I need to talk to him. Tell him that we can still be friends. Yeah, things don't have to be awkward unless we make them awkward. All I need to do is not stay at his place anymore. That won't be a problem. But, we probably shouldn't drink together anymore, either. That… That could be a problem. I guess Dave could work as the middle man… Shit."

John's morning was fairly similar. He untangled himself from Robin, who had managed to wrap her body around him at some point in the night. "I'm gonna head out," he said, hoping she would wake and hear him. He went around, gathering his clothes, slipping back into them for his walk back to his apartment.

"Leaving so soon?" she asked, sleep still heavy in her voice.

"Yeah. Got another busy day in front of me," he told her. Hopefully, somewhere in the course of the day, he would get a chance to talk to Randy.

"Alright. But if you get the need to talk or… whatever anytime, you have my number."

"Right," he said. "Well, I'm just gonna…"

"See ya round," she said to him.

"Yup," he answered back, not knowing if he actually would or not. She had left that up to him. Amazingly enough she actually iwanted/i to see him again, at least that's what it sounded like. After what he had let slip to her, well, he didn't think he would have been so kind had he been in her position.

As John walked back, he noticed he passed by Randy's apartment. Would it hurt to try and buzz him, maybe get to talk to him? Now, if only he could remember his room number… 203, that was it. "Who is it?" a voice came out through the speaker.

"John."

There was a moment of silence before the door clicked. John opened it and headed up the stairs. Randy was standing by his room door, propping it open for him. "You come all the way over here just to see me?" a t-shirt and underwear clad Randy asked him.

"No. I was going back to my place."

"And what were you doing all the way on this side of town at," Randy looked at a small clock he placed in the kitchen, "eight in the morning?"

"Oh, you know. A little of this, a little of that."

"You banged some chick last night and stayed at her place."

"Yeah," John admitted. "Sorry."

Randy forced a smile, "Don't be sorry. You have needs, ya know?"

"Yeah, yeah... So, I, uh, saw you last night. You, uh, bring her back with you?"

"Yup," was all Randy said. He didn't iwant/i to tell John that he didn't even enjoy the sex. But, for some reason, he always found himself saying things to John he would never dare say to anyone else. He didn't know why, he only knew the dude for three fucking days, why was that a sign for him to spill his entire life story? So, he kept quiet, not saying anything further, as much as he may have liked to do otherwise.

"Cool." Again they found themselves in that awkward silence. Neither of them liked it, but neither of them knew how to remedy it. They each knew that the reason they had gone home with random girls was to get one another out of their minds, but they couldn't say it. Because that would make them seem like they were itoo/i close. And that closeness was something neither of them could deal with. At least not at that moment in time. John spoke first, "Dude, we need to talk."

"I don't know what there is to talk about," Randy said, trying to brush it off as though nothing had ever happened between them.

"Shit, Randy, I don't want things to be so fucked up between us. Look, we let things go way too fucking fast."

"Yeah, but… We can still be friends, right?" Randy asked, his voice so full of hope. He hadn't meant for it to come out sounding like that, but it was too late now.

A smile appeared on John's face, obviously pleased that Randy wanted to attempt to reconcile what had easily been the best friendship either one had ever had. "I think so. But, maybe we should step back. Maybe not spend so much time together. And I don't know if we should crash at each other's apartments anymore."

"I agree with that. Umm, we should probably try and drink less around each other… Ya know, just incase…"

"Yeah, that'd probably be best…" Now that they had cleared the air, somewhat, John made himself comfortable on Randy's couch, leaning back and draping his arm over the back, "So, how was it?"

"Oh, you know," Randy said, sitting himself down on the opposite end of the couch. "Dude, the sex sucked," he admitted. "But, enough about me, how about you?" he asked, wanting to draw the attention away from him for once in his life.

"Shitty. I thought, you know, it might be what I needed—"

"To take your mind off of other things?" Randy cut in, knowing that was exactly the reason he had taken her home, and assumed it would be the same for John.

"Yeah… Maybe now I'll actually be able to enjoy it since I won't be thinking about whether or not my best friend still likes me or not," John said, his smile growing.

Randy smiled back, "Your best friend still likes you, that is, if you still like iyour/i best friend."

"Your best friend likes you, trust that. You know, I usually try and get to know a girl before fucking. Not that I've never taken a chick home from a bar, but it never happened much."

"It happens. Just like bad sex happens. Like last night it absolutely sucked. For her and for me. That's not to say I'm not great in bed, because lord knows, I am," Randy started to say, then added, "Not that you would care…"

"I felt the same way. At least the first time we went at it. There was no—"

"Spark," Randy finished, describing his own experience.

"Exactly. I wasn't really into it. Until I kinda told her what was going on."

"Wait," Randy said, "you went home with some chick, had sex with her then talked about your ifeelings/i? What the fuck, dude? That's so fucking gay."

"Just because you have to hole up and not show any emotion except when you're pissed off doesn't mean everyone's like that."

"Whatever."

Once again they made eye contact, which they broke immediately. All around them was a feeling that there was something more, of isex/i, between them. It was an attraction like neither had ever felt, especially in so small a time, and it scared the living shit out of them. But neither one could let the other know that was how they felt for fear of a falling out, this time with far greater consequences. "I'm sorry," John said.

"About what?"

"Yesterday. I completely overreacted to the situation. Why the fuck was I so paranoid that something would happen between us? I mean, like we said yesterday there has to be an attraction. You actually have to iwant/i to have sex with someone, right? And I don't want to be with you. Not that you're not a bad looking guy, but…" Oh, shit, what had John just let himself say?

"Yeah, I get what you're saying." Randy tried to convince himself that he believed what he was saying. He kept telling himself that he had only known John for three days and there was ino way/i he would want to have sex with another guy, especially one he had known for less than a week. But hadn't he just slept with some girl whose name he didn't even know? At least he usually asked for a name before he fucked her. Shit, that was not the logic he meant to use. "Why don't we start over?" he asked.

"Start over how?"

Randy stuck his hand out in introduction, "Hey, I'm Randy."

John shook Randy's hand, returning the greeting, "John."

"Nice to meet you, John. Where you come from?"

"Just out of Boston, Mass. You?"

"Well, I grew up in Missouri. So, John, what persuaded you into going into the business?"

One of John's patented smiles stretched over his face, "Grew up watching it. My brothers, I'm one of five, and I always watched it together, we would horse around, pretending we were Hulk Hogan or some shit like that. Then I had a friend that was going to wrestling school, he dragged me along and here I am. What about you, Randy, what got you interesting in pursuing a career in professional wrestling?"

"Well, as you may or may not know, my dad is "Cowboy" Bob Orton, and I decided to follow in his and my grandfather's footsteps. Of course, I had this bright idea that before I got into wrestling, I would go join the military." This was part of the story John had yet to hear, so he leaned forward, intent to listen. "The Marines, to be exact. Jesus fucking Christ on a mother fucking crutch, what a fucking shitty ass idea that was. I fucking hated it, ended up going AWOL within a year and got a dishonourable discharge."

"No shit. What, could your pansy ass not take it?"

"Fuck you. I was fine it that, it was the fucking drill sergeants that I couldn't take. Try and tell me that I'm nothing but a pretty face that can't do anything if I fucking tried, well fuck them."

And that was when John and Randy knew that they were back to where they were, back to being friends, best friends. Once again they were on the same page and knew they were right on track. It was easy for them to fall in sync with each other; one would start yammering away, the other would chime in. One of them would make some quip to which the other would respond with a comment just as snarky. The conversation came easily to them, it didn't matter if they knew each other for three days, three weeks, three years, three fucking decades, no, it mattered that at that moment, they clicked. At that moment they decided that they would let their friendship take them where it would, that they would roll with it and not try to fight the seemingly natural chemistry that formed between them. Hell, they couldn't even keep away from each other for a day. Not that they imagined they would never speak again because of some stupid shit that happened when the both of them were drunk, no, but neither one thought that they would get back to the status quo so quickly or so easily. It amazed John that he, an outgoing charismatic boy from Boston could have clicked so well with this arrogant, cocky bastard straight outta the South, but somehow, he did.

They were meant to be friends, that was obvious. It seemed inevitable that their friendship would evolve and grow to something much greater, though neither one wanted to say anything, be it out of fear or embarrassment. Still, even with the sexual tension between them growing, they still felt comfortable with one another. No one wanted to say anything because neither of them could stand to lose what had so quickly become the best friendship of their lives.

They found themselves talking for hours, neither paying attention to the time, when their stomachs grumbled loud enough for them both to hear. Randy looked down to his stomach then back up at John, "A growing boy's gotta eat."

"Agreed. What you got?"

"Jack shit. Unless you're cool with Ramen noodles."

"Fuck, I lived on Ramen in college; my mom actually gave me a Ramen cook book one year. That shit took a beating I used it so much."

"Does that mean you know how to make it in a way that's not soup?" Randy asked, actually excited to eat something other than the boring old Ramen noodles.

"Fuck yes," John said, standing up. "Show me what you're workin' with."


	5. Chapter 5

Weeks passed by, and things between John and Randy were… ok. They continued to wrestle each other at OVW, that was a give in, but after their day was over? While they thought for sure they were back on track, they found things to grow progressively awkward between them. Both John and Randy would think back to that conversation they had in Randy's apartment. John swore to himself that he had been talking about Ramen when he said, "Show me what you're workin with," but the more he thought about it, the less sure he became. So, they would sometimes hang out and play cards (rummy was a favourite of theirs) and once in a rare while would go out drinking, but neither would let themselves get too drunk. And if they did find themselves a little tipsy, they would turn to Dave so as to avoid the other.

That was until one day after a show when John said, "Fuck this, Randy. I thought we resolved whatever shit we had between us."

Randy's eyes shifted back and forth from John to the floor, not wanting to say anything, but thinking the same thing. He could only agree, "Yeah…"

"So, you know what we gotta do?" John asked.

Randy arched a questioning eyebrow and replied, "No, what?"

"We need to go to the bar tonight, Thirsty Thursday, and all that, and get shit faced. Get things back to normal. Please?"

Randy thought about it for a second before replying back, "You buying?"

"Is that what it'll take?"

"Probably not, but it wouldn't hurt the cause."

"I guess I can sacrifice a little for the cause. Just don't drink me outta my rent for this week, ok?"

"I'll try, but when I have a fifteen dollar limit—"

"Hey," John cut him off, "my rent is more than fifteen bucks a week."

"Then your landlord is ripping you off."

"Are you two finally speaking again," Dave asked as he walked by them in the locker room. It looked to him as though he had gotten there just in time, because John was flipping Randy off for whatever he had just said. "Shit, the way you two were acting it was like you had fucked then tried to pretend it never happened." He saw John and Randy make eye contact for a brief second before they quickly looked away. "Wait, you two didn't fuck, did you?"

"No!" Randy shot back to him.

"Where the fuck did you get that idea?" John asked, a hint of anger coming through his voice.

Dave held up his hands in defense and said, "Hey, I just call it like I see it. You guys coming out tonight, though?"

"Yeah," John answered, speaking for the both of them.

"Good. I guess I'll see you at Tommy's, I'm going there now," Dave said, grabbing his gear and leaving the room.

"See ya," John said while Randy just waved and said, "Yup."

"Dave's crazy. He obviously doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Right," Randy agreed. "Totally and completely insane. So, are you good and ready to head over to Tommy's?"

"Well, I don't really want to bring my shit to the bar, and I'm sure as hell not leaving it here."

"Bring it back to my place," Randy suggested.

"Ok," John said with a smile that lit up his entire face. He was sure this was what they needed to kick their friendship back into gear.

"Now that that's settled, let's go get drunk."

The two left for Randy's apartment, chatting back and forth, knowing they were actually back to where they left off. Once they dumped their stuff, they headed to Tommy's, spotting Dave instantly and sandwiching him between them at the bar.

"We," Randy said, gesturing back and forth between John and himself, "think you're crazy."

John nodded along with Randy, at the same time gesturing for the bar tender to get their orders. "Yup, you're crazy." The three ordered their dollar beers before resuming their conversation.

Dave smiled, "So, the Dream Team is back. Now, why do you say that?"

Randy raised an eyebrow, "The Dream Team?" Dave only shrugged in response, so Randy answered Dave's question, "We," he started, again gesturing between John and himself, "definitely do inot/i want to fuck each other."

"I never said you wanted to."

"But you insinuated it," John said. "Maybe you should get your eyes checked, because last I knew, I was a dude, Randy's a dude, and I don't want to have sex with another dude." John leaned back onto the bar, taking a deep swallow from his cup.

"Hey, man, I think you're reading way too much into my little comment."

"Or maybe you're just crazy."

Dave rolled his eyes and drank from his own cup, "Yeah, sure, Randy, I'm crazy. Forget I ever said anything. I didn't know what I was talking about, anyway. Because I'm crazy." He let his eyes graze over the crowd before they stopped on a thin blonde woman sitting at a table. "Ok, the crazy guy has… important matters to attend to. Have fun, you two." And with that, he left them at the bar.

"Can you believe that guy's still married?"

"Doubt it'll be for much longer… So," John said before finishing off his first beer, "what's up?"

"What's up? Is that all you can think of as a conversation starter?"

"Nope. There's always how's it goin'? Or what's crackin'?"

"Oh, God, please inever/i say what's crackin' again."

"Not a fan?"

"No. God no." Randy downed the rest of his drink, getting a second one as soon as he placed his cup on the counter.

John drank half of his second beer before asking, "You ever gonna answer my question?"

"Hmm?" Randy hummed out, cup still in his mouth.

"What's up?"

Placing his cup back down on the counter, he answered, "Same ol, same ol… Ya know, doing the wrestling thing, picking up hot women at the bars, wrestling some more, drinking, can't forget the drinking or the hot women. And the wrestling, doing quite a bit of that. What about you?"

"Sounds pretty much the same…"

"Well, let's be honest, it's not like there's a lot more than that to do around here."

"Very true," John agreed, tipping his cup towards Randy before finishing it off. He ordered a third drink just as Randy finished his second. "Don't forget, no drinking me out of rent money."

"Yeah, sure." John suddenly smirked at him, and he raised a questioning eyebrow. His question was answered, however, when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Slowly he turned around in his seat and came face to face with a woman, brown eyes, brown hair, tanned skin, a knockout. "Hello," he said to her, trying to keep his voice level, though it still sounded as though he was slightly pissed that someone had the audacity to interrupt him when he was in the middle of a conversations, hot as she may be.

"Hey. I think I've seen you around here before."

"Probably, I'm in here at least once a week."

"Thirsty Thursday is the only reason to ever come in here."

"Yup," he agreed, deliberately trying to avoid talking to her. He had been in a conversation with John, shouldn't he be more important than some girl that just walked up to him. Wait a second, he thought to himself, this girl is ihot/i and yet iJohn/i suddenly becomes more important? When he realized that she was still talking to him, he snapped his attention back to her, "Sorry, what was that?"

She dropped her hand from his shoulder and huffed, "Nothing. Just forget it." She walked away, looking for some new target.

"Way to go, Randy," John said, amused.

"What?"

"She was practically begging you to get into her pants. You blew that one. What was going on up in that head of yours?"

"I wasn't really feeling her."

"You're such a fucking liar."

"You're just upset that she didn't go to you after she was done with me. Besides, you don't interrupt someone when they're in the middle of a conversation…"

"Wait, are you trying to tell me that talking to me is more important to you than getting some? Randy, that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me. However, you're still a dumbass."

"Ortons are not dumbasses."

John placed his empty cup on the counter and another one was immediately given to him. As he started on beer number five, he said, "Yeah, sure. You keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better."

"I'll let you know that my father would resent that statement."

"You're the one that brought your entire family into the mix. I just said iyou/i were a dumbass."

Randy gulped down the nearly full cup of beer in front of him and got himself another. "I do know one thing, five beers in half an hour, if we keep going at this rate, we'll iboth/i be dumbasses by the end of the night."

"I can drink to that," John said, lifting his cup in a toast.

"Here, here," Randy agreed, bringing their cups together.

Another hour rolled along before Randy said, "Shit, have I reached my fifteen drink limit?"

"I fucking told you," John replied, his words slurring together and his accent becoming stronger, "that you can have more than that if you want it."

"I probably shouldn't, but I can't pass up that offer." He finished his drink and got another one. But, before he started on it, he, for the fifth time that night, got up to go to the bathroom. "I'll be right back."

"Yup."

While Randy was gone, a woman came over and sat in his seat, obviously to flirt with John. However, before she could open her mouth, John said, "You probably shouldn't sit there."

"Why not? There's no one here."

"He just left to take a leak. Just trust me on this one."

She shrugged, then moved from Randy's empty seat to John's lap. "Is this better?"

"Yeah, this works." Her arm wrapped around John's big shoulders and she continued to talk to him, although John was feeling pretty hazy at that point and wasn't listening too closely.

When Randy came back and took his seat, the girl pouted at him, saying, "He told me I couldn't sit there because you'd get angry."

"Fucking right," he said, once again annoyed that someone was taking their attention away from each other.

"What's your problem?" she asked him.

John brought his free hand to his face and shook his head. This could not end well.

"For starters—"

"Randy, just leave it."

"She asked, I'd like to answer."

"We don't need some fight breaking out, ok?"

The girl looked back and forth between John and Randy, formulating her own ideas about the situation she found herself in. She slid off John's lap and pouted some more, adding, "You could have just told me you weren't interested," before walking off, shooting another glare at Randy.

"Oh, man, you got burned."

"What the fuck was that about? I was very much interested. But, dude, she fucking hated you."

"Did she think I was trying to steal you away from her, or some crazy shit like that. Oh, shit." Randy scratched his head, looking towards John, "Maybe she did think that."

"Then she's just as insane as Dave."

"Yup… You should move in with me," Randy suggested out of the blue.

"Huh?"

A very drunk Randy tried to rationalize what he meant by it, "Think about it, right. What's the point in us living in separate buildings, since we're always around each other and we can, you know, save on rent money." Randy nodded, "Yup, much more convenient."

John was silent for a moment, not sure if he was just as insane as Dave or if it was the alcohol, but he was seriously considering the offer. "I dunno, dude. Maybe we should wait to have this conversation when we're not drunk off our asses."

"Or you could just say yes."

"I could do that. But I'm _drunk_ and shouldn't be thinking about anything right now."

"Whatever. I know you'll say yes anyway. God, I feel so gross."

"You're not gonna puke, are you?"

"No, not like that. But you know how you feel when you just have way too much to drink, not just beer, but anything, and you feel all full and don't want to move? That feeling."

"Did you want to go back to your apartment?"

"Not until you answer me."

"Look, let's make a deal. I'll move in as soon as I can find someone who'll move into my place."

"Fuck, no one's gonna wanna move into that fuckin shit hole."

"It's not that bad."

"It's fucking terrible. So it looks like I'll never get a roommate."

"You're better off without one, anyway."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" Randy asked, his temper starting to shine through.

"Calm the fuck down. I was just sayin that you're more of the personal space type of dude."

"Oh. Sorry…"

"So, did you want to get back to your apartment? Think you can remember the code this time?"

"Fuck you. See, that's why you should move in. You could remember it, too and we wouldn't have to rely on my drunk ass to remember it all the time."

"I told you, I'll do it if I can talk it over with my landlord to see what I can work out. I mean, I just moved in there a couple months ago, I can't imagine that he'd be too happy if I up and left."

"He's the one that's fucking you over, I say you pack your shit and leave."

"Hell no, I'm not gonna get my ass in trouble for doing something like that. No, I'm gonna give him my notice and make sure you let your landlord know."

"Why, so they can up the rent?"

"Dude, it's their building, they can do what they want."

"But you're gonna move in, right?"

"Holy Christ, you're persistent, aren't you? Yes, I'll move in with you, Randy. Eventually."


	6. Chapter 6

John finally did it, he moved into Randy's apartment. It wasn't as though he had a lot to bring over there, anyway, so the move was a quick one. John tossed a full suitcase down on the floor and sat down hard on the broken-down couch with one annoying spring that constantly dug into the leg of whoever was sitting on it. "I better not end up regretting that I said yes to you."

"I better not regret asking in the first place. I really shouldn't be allowed to open my mouth when I'm drunk. It seems to get me into trouble more often than not."

"I thought Ortons didn't get into trouble."

"Shut the fuck up, ass hole," Randy said all while grabbing two beers from the small fridge. He kicked the door shut behind him as he headed to the counter where he kept his trusty bottle opener and popped the caps off both of the bottles. He walked over to John and handed him one of the drinks before sitting down himself. Randy raised the bottle in a small toast. "To new roommates."

John raised his own bottle and clinked the bottoms together. "To new roommates," he repeated. He chugged down half the bottle before bringing it down to his legs where he kept it rested on his knee. "Ya know, we gotta go out and celebrate this shit."

"Any excuse, right?"

"You know it." John scooted over closer to Randy, looking down at the couch as he did so, giving the evil eye to the rogue spring. "Do I wanna know what's up with the couch?" he asked, smirking over his shoulder at Randy.

"I actually don't have a clue. It just… came that way. You can find fuckin' everything at the recycling center."

"You went dumpster diving for a couch?"

Randy shrugged. "I guess…"

"I'm surprised Ortons don't do dumpster diving."

"Go fuck yourself. Ortons can be thrifty, thank you very much," Randy replied, a grin playing at the corner of his lips.

"So, Ortons like playing in the trash," John summed up.

"Like you've never done it."

"I'm not saying that at all. My dad used to take me and my brothers down to the recycle center all the time. It was like our lil' hangout. My dad would meet his friends there, we got all our bikes there; it was the social event of the week," John recalled.

"That the cool thing to do in West Newbury?" Randy asked.

John gave a small nod of his head and answered, "Yeah. What's the cool thing to do in St. Louis? Chill by the Gateway Arch? Swim the Mississippi?"

"Right, and then you can grow a third arm from God knows what's in that water."

"Sounds like a grand ol' time."

"Don't I know it?" Randy replied sarcastically.

John once again looked down to the offending spring as he found himself thinking about it once more. "So, I really gotta sleep on this shit?"

"Well, you're not sleeping with me, I can tell ya that much. So, while I go make us some dinner," Randy said, standing up from his spot on the couch, placing one hand on the arm rest and the other on John's leg to push himself up, "you can make your bed."

"Looking forward to it." John slung his arm over the back of the couch and looked over to where he was looking in a cabinet in the mini kitchen area. "Whatcha makin', anyway?"

"What do you think?" Randy asked with a quirk in his brow.

John sighed and replied, "Ramen _again_?"

"What else can a man ask for?"

"Try something that's not loaded with a week's worth of sodium packed into _that_."

"Well," Randy started, "we could splurge and get some chicken wings or some shit like that over at one of the bars. Trophy's sound good?"

John stood up and was almost instantly by Randy's side. "Are you joking? Trophy's sounds like a God send right about now. Besides, we're celebrating my housewarming, right?"

"Right. Let's go, then, before it gets too busy and we don't get a table, which we'll need for us to pass out on later."

"That sounds great. We callin' anyone else up?" John wondered.

"Fuck that. It's just you and me tonight."

"I guess I can put up with you by yourself for a little while. Cuz, ya know, it's not like we don't see enough of each other."

"Hey, if you don't wanna go—"

"Now I never said anything like that. Let's get the fuck outta here."

The two left the small apartment, Randy pausing only briefly to lock the door behind them, and they were down the stairs and out the door. Trophy's was a small sports bar located on the other side of town on the second story over some pawn shop with damn good chicken wings and whatever major baseball or basketball or football game was on up on the TV.

They entered the building and were greeted by the bar tender who recognized them, even though their visits there were few and far between. "Hey there, guys," he said as the two slid up to the bar, "what can I do for ya tonight?"

John glanced at Randy, who shrugged and answered, "Whatever you got on tap. And your chicken wings."

Grabbing their drinks, they headed towards a table where they could talk in relative peace while still watching the game. Tonight it was a football game at the request of John, who knew the Pats were playing. Not too long after they sat, their wings were delivered to their table, and they began to eat.

"These guys are shit," Randy said around the final wing after 30 minutes of watching John's favourite football team get squashed by the Dolphins.

"Fuck you. We're going all the way this year, bitch. Watch 'em wind up having to face your precious Rams."

Randy glanced up and saw Tom Brady get sacked. "Don't think so," he said with a smirk. "So far the Rams are actually _winning_. Maybe your boys should take a lesson from a team that's, you know, _won_ the Super Bowl."

"Screw you, Orton. Brady's just what this team needs. You'll see. It's gonna happen, I'm tellin' ya. It's only a matter of time."

"Last time your team even made it to the Super Bowl, they got their asses handed to 'em on a silver platter by who? Oh, right, the Packers. They wear fucking cheese hats, Cena."

"Now you're just _trying_ to provoke me. I think you should back the fuck off of the Patriots right about now. This is the year, man," John stated with a sharp nod of his head. He then cringed when the ball was fumbled and a foul was called on one of the Pats.

"Oh, yeah, this will be your year for sure," Randy agreed, trying his hardest to keep a straight face.

"It's just the beginning of the season, man, we've got a lot of time to make it up… And it's only the first quarter, they're still working out the kinks is all…"

"If the first quarter is any way to judge the rest of the game, it looks like you're once again gonna get your ass handed to you."

"Fine, let's put something down on it."

"On this game?" Randy asked, casting his eyes up to the screen once more.

"No, I mean on the whole kit and caboodle. If my guys make it to the Super Bowl, you get to buy me all the alcohol I can drink. No matter what I want. If I want ten shots of Jäger, you pay up. And the same goes for you; if the Rams can even _get_ to the Super Bowl, I'll pay to get you wasted."

Randy ran the idea over in his head, and it sounded like a sound idea, but he had to add, "What do I get when they win?"

"We'll decide that when we get there. You better pray that your guys can even make it there in the first place. HA!" John said as he kept his eyes on the screen. "Touchdown, muthafucka!" John shouted as he jumped up from his seat to further rub it in Randy's face.

"They got lucky. The Dolphin's defense was wide open. My little sister could have run that one in."

"In your fuckin' dreams, dude. This is the beginning of the end, Randy, and you're gonna get _owned_." John sat back down, a smug look on his face.

"You're damn lucky the Rams are in a different division, Cena, because you'd have to sit through an ass whooping every season."

"Fuck that. You know you're just talkin' outta your ass now."

They continued to trash talk one another as the game continued and more people began to file in. When some little blonde girl walked in, she set her eyes directly on Randy. "Mind if I sit here?" she asked him as she stood at his side.

Randy's eyes were glued to the TV as he silently begged whatever gods were out there to crush the Pats. When it registered with him that he had been asked a question, he just waved his hand over the seat and said, "Yeah, sure."

"Shit!" she yelled when the Pats regained control of the ball.

Randy and John both looked at her in surprise. John's look was more of a glare, where as Randy's was shock. He was always one to appreciate an attractive female sports fan. "And you are?" he asked.

"Noelle."

Randy and Noelle talked through the rest of the second quarter and into the start of the fourth before Randy stood up and winked at John before heading out the door with her. John shook his head and focused his attention back on the TV. At least he should have the apartment to himself tonight.

Slightly drunk, John headed back to the apartment after the game ended. He remembered the code to the front door and made his way up the stairs. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key and when he opened the door he was stopped dead in his drunken tracks.

Directly in front of him on the couch that was meant to be _his_ bed was Randy. And Noelle. Or, to state it better, there was Randy _in_ Noelle. His lips were attached to hers as his hips drove his dick back and forth in her body.

Neither one noticed the intrusion until John slammed the door behind him and started shouting at them. "What the _fuck_ is this shit, Randy?!"

He stopped moving and glanced over towards John. Noelle scrambled around looking for anything to cover herself up with. "Do you _mind_?" Randy asked.

"Uh, yeah, I do, actually. I thought you'd be going back to her place," he said, pointing right at Randy's guest.

"She has roommates. And I thought the game would be going on longer…"

"Your fuckin' bed is another fuckin' twenty fuckin' feet away! You couldn't hold out anymore? You just _had_ to hit that right then and there where I'm supposed to be _sleeping_?!"

Randy groaned and stood up in search of his clothing. Noelle was already dressed and was looking extremely pissed off as the two men continued to shout about her as though she weren't even in the room. She pushed out past John and made sure to slam the door as she left.

"Great," Randy said as he put his pants back on. "Thanks a lot, John."

"Well, how the fuck else am I supposed to react to that?! Shit, it's not something I'm expecting to see when I come back here."

"Get the fuck over it, shit! It happened one time."

"Randy, this is my first fucking night staying here!" John shouted back. "You've got a fucking bed, so goddamn USE IT! I don't give two shits about you walking around naked or anything, but I don't wanna come in and see you fucking some chick on the couch I'm supposed to sleep on! Plus, I don't think she would appreciate getting walked in on."

"Well, I really didn't think you'd be back so soon. You know football, it usually takes forever…"

"And tonight it didn't. Go fucking figure."

"I'm sorry, ok, but it is gonna take some time before I'm totally adjusted to this whole… you being here thing. And what the fuck are _you_ gonna do when you bring some chick home, huh? Cuz you sure as fuck aren't taking it to my room. Am I just supposed to walk in on you?"

John paused. He had to admit he hadn't thought about that. "I'll just go to her place, that's all."

"What the fuck ever. I'm done with this," Randy said before walking off to the bedroom, leaving John alone with the couch.

John looked down at it and sighed. Of course he was sure that Randy had made use of the couch before, as had, he assumed, the people before him, but actually seeing it take place with someone else… His entire thought process froze. 'Take place with someone else,' he repeated to himself. What had he even meant by that? That he wanted to be the one it was taking place with? He shook his head, no, that couldn't be right. Seeing Randy have sex, that's all he meant by that. Right, he didn't like the fact that he saw Randy fucking some chick where he was sleeping. That's it, there's no reading further into that comment that his own drunken brain came up with.

He grabbed his Patriots blanket and laid it out over the couch and sat down. He said he'd do anything to become a wrestler, and if it took putting up with Randy 24/7 and sleeping on his banged up second hand couch after watching Randy bang some random chick on it, he'd do it all over again in a second.

Standing back up, he walked over to the light switch and flicked it off and sat back down on the couch. He spread himself out over the couch, making sure to avoid that one spring that would not stay down. And he let himself fall asleep.

After another week of working out, training and shows, everyone's beloved weekend rolled around. "Callie's?" Randy asked that Friday night.

"Hell yeah, dude. I swear, I'm gonna go broke spending money on cheap beer."

"Is there a better way to go broke, though?" Randy questioned.

"Maybe on strippers," John thought.

"Strippers _and_ cheap beer," Randy amended.

"Now there's an idea." They both grabbed their wallets and headed out the door in order to head over to Callie's where they were meeting Dave.

"And now that the two of you are living together, are you sick of each other yet?" Dave asked when he saw the two men enter the building.

"He's Randy, there's not much more I can say."

"Oh, please, you love being around me."

"Not as much as you love being around yourself."

Dave could only shake his head and laugh at the two young men in front of him. "Remember a couple months back when I said you two acted like an old married couple and you called me crazy? Well, I'm sticking by what I said. You two epitomize an old married couple."

"Why's that?" John asked him. "Is it because we're always arguing?"

"Always arguing yet still going back to each other. I'm surprised you didn't leave him after you saw him cheating on you."

"What the fuck are you even talking about?" Randy wondered looking at Dave then over his shoulder towards John who shrugged.

"You were fucking someone that wasn't John," Dave told them quite bluntly.

"Why do I care who he fucks?" John questioned. It wasn't as though he cared if Randy was having sex. He was a young, very attractive man, and who was to stop him from picking up girls from bars. He just happened to walk in on that, and that was not appreciated. Not that he hadn't stopped to admire Randy's perfect ass as it bobbed up and down… "And what the fuck do you mean by he was fucking someone that wasn't me?"

It was Dave's turn to shrug. "Hey, feel free to turn a blind eye to the situation at hand. It's cool. Denial happens."

Randy was completely thrown by what Dave was saying. John was his best friend, and they weren't sleeping together, so what made Dave even think that they were? Not that Randy hadn't let the thought cross his mind, but most of the time they were just bullshitting around. It was time, Randy felt, for a major change of subject. "Hey, I don't know what you've been smoking, but you should try laying off it, because it's obviously fucking with your brain. So, John, how are your Patriots doing?"

"They're looking great, thanks for asking. Someone's not gonna be too happy when their team doesn't step up."

"You'd know. Your team gets out there and chokes big time when it counts." Randy turned his head to Dave and began talking to him before John could reply. "You got a football team? You could be part of our betting pool."

"You just want someone to split the costs with when I beat everyone out."

"Fuck you. I just wanted to give him a chance to witness you get crushed is all."

"Sure," John replied, not buying that for a second.

"I do, actually," Dave cut in. "The Redskins are my team of choice. What're you wagering?"

"If my team makes it to the Super Bowl, he's buying me all the booze I can drink. Same goes for him," John answered.

"Alright, so if I join in and my team makes it, you'll both buy me drinks?"

"Yup," Randy replied.

"What if two teams make it?"

"Then the loser buys both of them drinks," John said.

Randy shot back in defense, "Hey! That's not fair! If two teams make it, yours _has_ to be one of them! That means you wouldn't end up buying anyone drinks. No, if the Rams or Skins make it with the Pats, you're still paying. The odd man out just has to split the difference for both people."

"That works for me," Dave said.

"Done."

The three men shook on the terms of their wager, having no idea this would be the start of some crazy bets John and Randy would partake in over the years. Needless to say, each man followed the NFL particularly closely that year.

"So, are you two the type that'll cheer for whatever team is playing the other's team?"

"Yeah," the two answered at the same time.

"I'm sure baseball will be wicked bad," John added.

"Lemme guess, you're a fan of those loser ass Red Sox." John punched Randy's arm, resulting in an immediate, "Hey! What the fuck was that for?!"

"You were being a fuckin' asshole and you know it."

Randy rubbed his arm, not because it hurt, it was just out of habit. "When am I not an asshole? Christ. Anyway, your guys playing tonight?"

"They are, actually," John answered. "I suppose I should go start begging the bartender to play the game, shouldn't I?"

"Probably, yeah. I just wanna see them lose."

"They're not gonna lose. You walked out early last time, so you didn't even get to see their amazing comeback in the 3rd quarter."

"I think I'm gonna let you two have some alone time," Dave told them. "See you guys later."

"Later," the two said to him at the same time.

"Is he ever gonna realize that the two of us aren't fucking each other? Jesus Christ," John muttered before drinking down some of the beer sitting on the table in front of him. He had lost track of all the beers he had consumed so far that night as time went on, the conversations taking a far more important role than the number of beers he downed.

"I know. Like I'd ever wanna fuck you."

John turned his head slightly to the side and raised his eyebrow. "Was I just insulted?"

"Wait, what?"

"I think you just insulted me. What do you mean you'd never wanna fuck me? Am I not good looking, is that what you're saying?"

"Dude, no, what? That's not it… You're plenty good looking, but I'm. Not. Gay… Ok, so _maybe_ back in the Marines I gave a couple hand jobs, maybe got one or three, but that's—"

"You jerked a guy off when you were in the Marines?"

"So what? Don't ask, don't tell, right?"

"What the fuck are you gonna tell me next? That you constantly stare at my ass when I'm walking." The lack of response from Randy meant one of two things: he was so drunk he had completely zoned out and didn't hear a word he just said _or_ it was actually true. And the way Randy was staring at him, he couldn't help but think it was the later of the two. "You stare at my ass?"

"It goes on for miles; how could I not?" Randy asked, his words slurring together and his voice raising as more booze entered his bloodstream.

"Fuck you."

"The truth finally comes out."

"Wasn't there some rule about you not talking when you're drunk?

"I dunno. Like I'd even remember. Shit, I gotta piss," Randy blurted out rather loudly, causing a few people to turn and look in their direction.

"I'm not stoppin' ya."

Randy stood up and fumbled his way over to the bathroom leaving John alone at the table. He was slightly shocked by the new revelations he had in regards to Randy. Did Randy _really_ stare at his ass? Did he actually want Randy in, well, a sexual kinda way? He took a deep breath and shook his head deciding that it would probably best if he _didn't_ think about that right now. As he caught eyes with a girl across the room, he decided that he found just the thing to take his mind off of Randy for the time being.

He headed over towards her and introduced himself. And she followed suit. And his groan was audible when she introduced herself as Randi. "Sorry, I just remembered I gotta go meet a friend to watch the Pats game," he told her to get out of there as fast as he could. When he saw Randy leaving the bathroom, he grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of the bar. "We should go."

"What the fuck, dude?"

"Let's just go back to your… our apartment… and finish watching the game there."

Randy shrugged and followed, starting the walk back towards the building. "Why couldn't we just stay in there? Failed pick up lines leave you too embarrassed to stick around?"

"I just hit on a chick named Randi…"

Randy couldn't help but laugh. "Damn, man, I think the stars are tryin' to tell ya something."

"Shut the fuck up, dude. Just shut the fuck up."

"Don't you think it's a sign, or something?" Randy continued. "Look, you can't deny that I'm a good lookin' guy, right? I think anyone in their right mind would want to have a go at this," he said as he waved his hands around his body.

"Ego much?" John asked with a grin.

"Ortons only speak the truth. Come on, Johnny, you gotta admit it. You wanna tap my ass."

"No, actually, I don't. I think we should actually go back to enforcing that no speaking while drunk rule."

"Come on, man, I'm _joking_. Shit, I thought you had a sense of humour."

"I do, I do…" They continued to walk in silence until they reached the front door of the building where John punched in the code. They headed inside and to the apartment where John switched on the TV to try and find the game. Once he had it on, he sat down on the opposite end of the couch from Randy. Naturally it was right on that fucking spring. "No trying to scoot in closer or resting your head in my lap," John warned him, a teasing tone evident in his voice.

"But what if I just happen to pass out in your direction?" Randy quipped back, grinning.

"Who knows what'll happen…" Contrary to his own words, John couldn't take the constant prodding of that spring and scooted over closer towards Randy.

"Oh, I see how it is. You're the one that's gotta make the first move."

"Just shut up and watch the game."

"Pats are gonna lose," Randy told him.

"What part of shut up don't you understand?"

"All of it."

As the two continued to talk about the game, their earlier conversations were briefly forgotten in their drunken haze. They jokingly flirted with one another from time to time, but nothing came from it, each one assuming the other was _only_ joking, neither knowing that there were indeed real feelings blossoming between the two young men.


End file.
